Crimsontooth
by jarms
Summary: A girl wakes up, seemingly alone...until flashes of white pass in her periphery and deep growls threaten from behind a closed door. The others—those creatures and monsters, those things she can't understand—wait to give her news. Her role in their lives is a pivotal one, so it must be in her best interest to oblige them. Right?
1. T-Minus Three

**A/N**: Hi all! I know I've been quiet for a while, but I'm still around.

For those of you interested, an update on **Dark Matter**: chapter 4 is on its way! My beta is currently working her magic and should have it completed fairly soon.

Alright, now for the real reason you are all here: **Crimsontooth**. This fic will be a short, maybe around 4 chapters, and written quick and dirty. The entire thing will probably be under 10k words, so I could have just posted it as a long one-shot, but I wanted to break it up a bit. Plus, the whole starting-in-October thing wasn't so bad either (you know, Halloween inspiration and all).

Anyway, this fic is my spooky take on one possible path—set a few decades in the future—that _some_ of your beloved characters could have traveled if Edward had not been so _cool_ with the Jacob/Nessie imprint, if Edward's true predatory spirit had not been stifled. In other words, if he'd been a _real_ vampire. LOL.

As always, I offer you some **suggested listening**: _"Touch" by Lights Fade Low_

Now, without further ado, I give you…**Crimsontooth**

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><p><strong>T-Minus Three<strong>

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><p>"She's waking up."<p>

"Shh! They'll hear you."

"Who is she?"

"Smells human. But you know I can't see anything with those guard dogs around."

The rush of angry whispers spirals into the girl's ears, and with lids parting, her vision swims—hazy images appearing. Blurred lines sharpen and puzzling shapes slowly transform into something recognizable: a mahogany dresser just out of reach; a four-poster bed a few feet away; an ornate rug spread across the solid wood planks of the floor; a ceramic urn blooming with decayed twigs from a long-dead plant; a slick black, baby grand piano in the corner…

Late afternoon sun struggles to break through the heavy, floor-length drapes, and filtered beams of light—sifting through the exposed gaps between the panels—give life to stale, dust particles floating in the air. The swirling debris accentuates the pounding in her head and disorients her thoughts.

Lifting her leaden arm, she lightly touches her throbbing temple, wincing at the contact and the sticky substance caked in her hair. Pulling back fingertips sheened in red, she gags—the coppery smell turning her stomach rancid—when a breathy gasp echoes across the room.

And she freezes.

Murky grayness stretches through the space, hiding imagined creatures in deeply recessed corners, and she fights a losing battle to squelch her racing heart, to shallow her panting breaths. With apprehension aggressively exploding in the confines of her chest and prickling the back of her neck in its icy embrace, she somehow finds the strength to allow her gaze to tiptoe along the path cast by the darkest shadow. Suddenly, her visual trek is interrupted by a flash of movement so pale that it glows even in the absence of light. Straining to focus on the object, confused instinct screams at her to run yet beckons her to stay, and she is stuck in a state of indecision.

Speeding whispers buzz past her ears, and she tries to grab on to one phrase, one word. Spoken too fast for comprehension, the meaning is lost, but the cadence gives way to a simple fact: she is listening to a conversation no one wants her to understand.

Another bleached white blur darts across her view and vanishes before her mind can clearly grasp the image, but she swears she saw eyes.

Locked in place, staring into the expansive depth of darkness, her imagination creates monsters, forming and morphing each into something more terrifying than the last…until she notices long, thin fingers slowly wrapping around one of many thick bars she had not realized was there. The sturdy metal enclosure divides the space, but the girl isn't sure whether it is meant to keep her in or to keep the being out.

A face creeps forward from the shadows, resting its cheek against the hand, and she is immediately intrigued. The features are magnificently feminine: full lips, trim nose, high cheekbones, and honeyed irises that seem to glow from within. The girl is compelled to move closer to the woman behind the bars, but her instincts are still shooting ice water through her veins, warning her something is off.

Then the woman speaks.

"I'm Alice. What's your name?"

Chewing her lip, the girl buys time while deciding to answer. "Peyton."

"That's pretty...Peyton. Please, don't be afraid. It's okay." Alice's soft voice calls to her with all the tranquility of dancing wind chimes, and this time, she is more than just _compelled_ to move...she is _required_.

Rising to her feet on stiff joints, the ache causing her to wonder how long she's been curled on the floor, she begins to advance. Her measured steps propel her closer to the captive...or the threat—she's still not sure—when something substantial weighs on one leg. Scraping across the wooden planks, it drags behind her, and the girl looks down to see a chain wrapped around her ankle. Frowning at the metal links that disappear beneath a closed door, Peyton questions the room at her back.

"What's in there?"

"The bathroom. I'm sure you'll need it at some point."

Looking toward Alice—her vision adjusting to the dim light—she scans the wall behind her only known companion. "What about you...where's yours?"

With a warm smile, the subject is changed. "What's the last thing you remember, Peyton?"

Perplexity furrows her brow, but feeling a strong, illogical desire to please this woman, she nevertheless answers, "I was walking through the woods behind my house."

"In Forks?"

"Just outside the city limits."

"Alone?"

"Yes." Peyton's mind drifts and she is no longer trapped in this foreign room. "Except I felt someone watching me. I looked around but didn't see anything. Then I heard the crack of a branch being stepped on, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up on the floor with a bloody gash on my head, chained like some wild animal." Snapping out of her most recent memory, she stares at the woman behind the bars. "Please, tell me. Where am I?"

"They're coming!" another voice hisses from a corner shrouded in darkness, and Alice jerks back to the hidden depths of her space.

Heavy footsteps creak the floorboards on the other side of the wall, stopping at the closed entrance to the room. Fear screams at her to hide, but Peyton is frozen, unable to move as the hinges squeak—the door slowly swinging open.

A man steps into view: tall, broad shoulders, dark hair. The setting rays of light that slipped between the curtains mix with the bright glow from the hall and reflect off his skin, giving it a bronze luster and surrounding him in a mystical aura. Moving closer, carrying a bowl, he walks straight to her.

His features are soft but handsome, his deep brown eyes are kind, and she imagines he's a nurturer.

"You should eat." His baritone voice is gentle when he places the dish on the dresser, and Peyton doesn't understand how this caregiver could be her captor.

Another hulking man suddenly occupies the doorway, something large draped over one shoulder. With his frame backlit, reverse shadows are cast into the room, and walking toward Alice, only his outline is visible. The extra light allows just enough illumination for Peyton to make out _two_ figures crouched behind the bars, and she realizes the area is not divided like she originally thought. Instead, the others are secured in a cage.

This set up is meant to protect her.

The large man reaches the enclosure and drops his cargo on the floor. The thud when it hits the ground is punctuated by his gruff proclamation. "Dinner!"

Peyton scans the object covered in tawny hair. Roaming over its plump body, she notices the erratic jump of its chest, the bony protrusion from its neck, the limp tongue extended from its mouth, and she hears a faint gurgling. Glancing at its snout, a mix of blood and bubbling spittle coats its nostrils. Lurching against the wall, she is desperate to escape the implications of the scene before her.

The man—_this_ man...the one who seems more twisted...the one she's _sure_ is her captor—has just delivered a barely living deer to the two women sharing her room.

And he is expecting them to **eat** it.

Addressing Alice, "I know how you like fresh meat," his lips peel back on the final word, and stealthy rays of sunlight glint off his teeth.

Turning to Peyton, he regards her with a smug smirk that accentuates his strong, angular jaw. She glances between the two men—noticing they are Quileute, assuming they are from La Push—when a deep growl echos down the hall.

They all look at the door.

"He's coming," the dangerous one says.

The distinct sound of daggers drawn across wood scrapes ferocious images in Peyton's mind: chipped splinters littering the corridor from the dragging of metallic tools used for torture, an angry beast of a man with wild eyes embedded in a fleshy, greased face advances. Expecting to cower in the corner from emotional distress at the sight of such evil, she inches along the decaying wall at her back—rough, cracked plaster snagging her clothes, offering a mild resistance to her retreat.

The monster's heavy, chuffing breaths mark the passing of seconds as it closes in on her lush tomb, its true form on the verge of exposure. Despair begs her lids to slam shut, but fascination, bathed in terror, keeps them open.

Slowly appearing in the doorway, the creature slinking into view is much worse than a menacing human.

Razored claws slide against wood—_dragging daggers. _

Long muzzle expels finely misted plumes of dust and air—_chuffing breath. _

Tightly clamped jaw muffles rumblings from throat—_echoing growl_.

The head of the onyx beast is level with the tallest man in the room, and it turns to her with blazing eyes burning of malicious intent. Exposing jagged teeth, miniscule streams of blood—from a recent kill, _from a deer!_—drip off sharp canines, and the massive wolf pronounces its dominance...proves it's a threat.

Emanating from its jet-black pelt, intense power cloaks it in a shimmering aura, and Peyton intuitively understands she's watching something humans were never intended to see...something fierce and otherworldly. The true definition of a predator is in her midst, and the alarm spiking her blood locks her joints, rooting her to the floor.

With barely a breath, she mouths a single word. "Crimsontooth..."

The man closest to her—the one she feels is out of place in this dim reality she's been inducted into—looks at her. Recognition paints his face, coloring his brow and pursing his lips, before the _other_ one pulls his attention, "C'mon, Emb, let's go."

A last glance in her direction before _Emb_ follows his companion out of the room, the midnight wolf having already departed the hallway.

The door closes and they are thrust into a deeper grayness, the girls alone once more.

Scurrying from the corner of her cell, Alice addresses Peyton. "You may want to look away."

With lips firmly held by shock, she whispers, "Why?"

"I know you don't understand all this, but we're starving." Pink tongue darting between precise teeth, begging for a taste, she offers hollow condolences too matter-of-fact to be sincere. "It's almost dead. The heart sounds weak."

Not wanting to bear witness to the desecration of her once-naive existence—that gullible innocence that's been slipping through her grasp since waking—Peyton flips to face the wall.

Selfish snarls of greed precede intense ripping and shredding before a single loud crack ricochets off ostentatious furnishings—an echo frantically searching for an escape from this twisted Grimm's Fairy Tale. Yet morbid curiosity beseeches her and, unable to resist, she turns back to the scene where a gruesome discovery awaits.

The body gone, replaced with two, bloody trails forked by a steel bar—coated in fleshy remnants—and leading into the cage.

The sound of ravenous demons devouring gelatinous entrails and drinking marrow from bones fills the forbidding space, and Peyton settles in the corner.

With a backdrop of wet gnawing and a melody of silent tears, her lullaby will play until morning.

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><p><em>*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels<em>—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	2. T-Minus Two

**A/N:** Hi everyone! I'm really glad you all are enjoying this little fic, and I want to thank everyone who has reached out and left a kind, encouraging note.

After detailing the outline a little more, it has become apparent that this story will likely be at least 5 chapters (mainly because _this_ chapter was never even intended to be part of the storyline). LOL! These characters do tend to have a mind of their own after all.

Alright, on with **Crimsontooth**.

**Suggested Listening:** _"Uninvited" by Alanis Morissette_

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><p><strong>T-Minus Two<strong>

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><p>"This is torture. She smells divine, and all I've got to slake my thirst are these damn animals they keep bringing."<p>

"You know your father had trouble resisting, too. It's why he liked to keep Bella close. The more distance between them, the more intense his hunger would become…worried if she got too far away he'd race to her in ravenous pursuit, and blinded by need, kill her. Edward was always afraid of losing control because he was the one who had the most trouble keeping it."

Alice's tinkling vibrato pulls Peyton from a fitful sleep, reminding her that macabre nightmares now reign her waking world. No longer is she locked in an active dreamland. No longer is the black wolf…is _Crimsontooth_…breathing fire down her neck in the midnight forest governed by paranormal conduct. Those urban legends she grew up hearing—the ones that scared her shitless and gave her night terrors, the ones that forced her to hide under the covers and leave all the lights on—are now incarnate, roaming the many rooms of this old, dilapidated house.

Her lids—swollen from hours of soft tears—scrape like coarse sandpaper against dry eyes, and the harsh, mid-morning sun pierces the room. Incessant buzzing whirrs past her head, tunneling in her ears then escaping into the distance, and her hands instinctively swat the empty air left in the fly's wake.

"Morning, sunshine. You missed breakfast." Alice welcomes her to the new day, but not ready to face the full extent of this reality, Peyton leaves the woman wanting.

On the dresser, where last night's untouched soup has been replaced with oatmeal, sits a bottle of water. With parched tongue begging for moisture, she slides off the bed and makes her way to claim the prize. Twisting off the cap, she chugs half its contents, leaving the liquid remnants resting just below the label.

"Peyton, the men who stole you…they aren't good. They _will_ lie to you." Alice's light whisper reaches out, pulling her attention even as the pale beauty withdraws against the wall. "One's here now."

The door violently swings open.

And the man responsible steps through the open frame. He scans the dresser, pausing on the cold breakfast—"I see you're not eating…Emb won't be too happy about that"—before making eye contact with the girl. The intensity of his stare bores into her, and fear pricks at her scalp, a timid whimper piggybacks on her stuttering exhale.

This beacon of innocence paints a predatory smirk on his lips, and with a slight tilt of his head, the dangerous one prowls…slowly…toward Peyton. Each gliding step brings a smooth rock to his shoulders, a fluid roll to his hips. Her primitive instincts shallow her breath and sharpen her vision, clearing any residue of sleep from her mind: fight or flight.

Because he is hunting.

Legs that won't move force her to take a stand, and she raises her chin to mimic bravado. Counting her inhales:

_One…two…three_—he's at the opposite end of the dresser.

_Four…five…six_—closer still…if she could just run.

_Seven…eight_—barely a foot away, he's within arm's reach.

_Nine…ten…eleven._

Smelling of pine and virility, his presence is too consuming to leave any room for concentration, and she begins to _crave_ his touch.

He lifts his arm and her jaw drops slightly to pardon her beseeching tongue—moistening her lower lip and luring it back between teeth that rake the delicate flesh with just enough pressure to excite the senses. Gaze falling to his hand, he watches the phantom whisper of his fingertips ghost along her collarbone—the heated trail dusting her skin with a faint blush.

And he lingers.

Her traitorous body shoots signals of carnal desires—of needful things—and a warmth washes through her, pulsing between her thighs.

A languid inhale flutters his lashes, and a deep, appreciative rumble builds in his chest. His lids spring open, eyes flashing with the raging fire of power, and Peyton burns. Hand skimming the side of her neck—rich mocha covering sweet cream—he presses his palm flat against her racing pulse, and a mix of innate dominance and rugged passion commands his fingers to slowly close around her throat. He leans in, breath billowing against her hair…

"Paul!" the _other_ girl in the cage hisses.

His defeated chuckle tickles her ear before he whispers, "T'sa shame…we coulda had fun."

Pulling back, the promise of a fiery paradise no longer evident—replaced by an ice cold danger hauled from the deep wells of revenge—Paul blows a frosty kiss meant to mock the girl he can still smell. Releasing his grip from her vulnerable throat, he leaves her standing next to the dresser…he leaves her to pick up the slippery pieces of her lust.

"Aw, Nessie, you don't want me playin' with our guest?" he asks. Peyton follows the path of his gaze to see the girl who has come out of hiding, the girl with light brown hair and pale skin, the girl who is glaring at him with amber daggers.

He saunters to the metal enclosure and drags his nose along the same bar Alice gripped yesterday. "Hmm… Your scent. This won't work. We don't want you trying to escape and hurt our little human…" Looking over his shoulder, he stares at _the human_. "Do we?"

Shock and fascination glue her to the scene as he turns back and draws his tongue up the steel rod, the two women in the cage hissing and clawing at the wall like angry cats.

Confusion disorients her mind and she no longer wants to watch the freakshow performance. Scanning away from the action, Peyton stumbles over the carcass of last night's meal—fat-bodied flies circling and landing on the tawny-colored runway of the deer's hide. The animal was ripped in two, just as she imagined from the blood trails, but it wasn't devoured. The meat still rides the bones. It just looks…

Dehydrated?

Her head begins to pound and she loses all interest in deciphering the truth before her.

Tingling flesh crawls up her spine…_she's being watched again_…and at the door stands Emb. His presence exudes an honest soul, and she is immediately put at ease.

"You didn't eat."

"I—I'm not hungry."

He looks around the room, observing Paul's licking…the girls' screeching…the rotting remains…and concedes with a slight shrug. "I can understand that."

Empathy?

Maybe he'll be the one to wake her from this nightmare.

"Emb, is that your name?" Peyton offers a shy smile. "Mine's Peyton." She tells him this so he'll see her as a person, so he'll care about her life.

"I know." His response is of the clipped-monotone variety.

Chewing her lip, she decides on another tactic

"What's happening, Emb? What do you guys want from me? My family doesn't have any money."

"Huh. You think we're petty criminals."

It's a statement not a question, but she answers anyway. "I don't know… No… Aren't you?" She's trying to wrap human explanations around inhuman situations, praying something will make sense, but she keeps coming up short.

Cutting her with sharp eyes, he takes several steps into the room.

Going for honesty, emotion pushes waves through her voice. "I don't understand anything that's going on. Why am I here—chained like this? Why are they in a cage?" She throws her arm toward her two companions. "And why the hell are they flipping out over your friend _licking_ the bars? Especially when _Nessie_ can obviously stop him from coming on to me!"

"What!" He turns—canines exposed, every muscle tweaking—and Paul freezes.

"I can tell when I'm not wanted. I'll catch you later, Emb."

Peyton watches the man—the one who thrummed her body while she stood helpless—walk out of the room with his tail tucked.

Alice and Nessie huddle against the back wall, contorted features gradually subsiding.

"Emb, please." She attempts to draw his attention, to get him talking. "You gotta tell me… Anything. I have a right to know _something_. Don't I?" When he doesn't refuse, she continues with the first thing that comes to mind…the deer. "Why does the carcass look dehydrated when I heard them chewing on it all night? Why is the meat still on its bones?" A single gulp interrupts her line of questioning. "Why isn't it mangled?"

With a tilt of his head and a slight smirk, he responds, "Are you sure you heard them _chewing_?" Eyebrow lifting, he's challenging her perception of the events, and his next words rip a hole in the fabric of her reality. "They're _bloodsuckers_, Peyton."

She knows what this means. This is a term that leeches the color from her face every time she hears it. This is a term that takes her back to those horrid nightmares.

But this is a term that isn't supposed to exist. Not _really_.

Squinting, Emb watches her, intrigue creasing the corners of his eyes. The subject has hit a nerve, and he continues to push. He wants to see just how much she knows about his world. "Look around. You know where you are, don't you?"

Slowly shaking her head and backing away, she refuses to admit to the validity of these myths surrounding her. She refuses to let them escape the fantasies where boogeymen and evil spirits reside.

These legends will not claim her truth. She can't let them.

She can't.

"Peyton…" His forward steps chase her retreat, her back hitting the wall. "Where are we?"

"I—I don't know."

Invading her personal space, Emb's presence engulfs her, immersing her mind in chaotic misfires that skew her reasoning and spin the room. "Oh, but you do."

Slamming her lids—wishing she could shut him out—she quietly surrenders to his will…to the demons he wants her acknowledge. "The Old Cullen Mansion."

Silence.

Dead silence.

And she peaks.

He hasn't moved—her breath still plumes over his chest with each exhale.

And nothing's changed—her heart still beats wildly in her throat.

Hooking one finger under her chin, Emb lifts, beckoning her, and she obeys. Submitting to the second man to touch her—to the only man she thinks might save her—she is greeted with a satisfied grin.

And a final demand. "Peyton, tell me about Crimsontooth."

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><p><em>*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels<em>—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	3. T-Minus One

**A/N: **Hello, again! Sorry it took me a little longer to get this chapter out, but I was working on some of the final edits to Dark Matter (Which, btw, I have news for DM's chapter 4! It _will_ be posted by this Wednesday, 11/26/14!) Ok, that's all I've got for now.

On with **Crimsontooth.**

**Suggested Listening:** _"Little Pistol" by Mother Mother_

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><p><strong>T-Minus One<strong>

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><p>"Wh- what?" Peyton's question stumbles over her confused thoughts as it races to depart her mouth.<p>

"You called the black wolf Crimsontooth. I want to know why you said that."

Turning her face to the side, she pulls her chin from Emb's scalding grip. But his formidable body traps her against the wall. Standing inches away, unnatural heat balloons out from his pores and pops around her trembling form.

"I- I need space. You're too close. I can't think." A single bead of sweat carves a tenuous path between the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. Starting… Stopping… Its jerky pursuit of freedom marks the wary passage before it disappears beneath the dark, cotton fibers of her collar.

A glimmer sparkles in his eyes because her reaction is endearing—even in this hellish situation—but pressed lips keep his secrets locked away. Stepping back, he gives her room to breathe…room to think…like she asked.

"Really, _Emb_?" Alice scoffs, "You've got a thing for your hostage? How sweet."

A deep rumbling bass emanates from the man—vibrating the floor and rattling the window—and the two…_things_…in the cage, twitchy and on edge, scurry to hide in the farthest corner.

With his attention on the others, Peyton moves toward the bed, hyper aware of the soft scraping sound of the chain dragging behind her. The adrenaline high she's been riding all morning vacates her body, leaving her legs weak and shaky, and she flops down on the edge of the mattress. Rubbing her face briskly, attempting to reinvigorate her senses and clear the haze from her mind, she tries to lay the foundation for an escape. If nothing else, to at least feel as if she has some semblance of control over her future…like she's not some disposable pawn in this sick game of chess between monsters.

She knows her location—the Old Cullen Mansion. If she could get the key to her chains from Emb… Then what?

Break through the window?

She's still in the middle of the woods…still miles from town. But if she could just get out of the house… Maybe she could run…faster than…

Crimsontooth?

Quickly seeing the flaw in this plan—like she could outmaneuver the evil that lores are made of—a loud, sardonic laugh erupts from the pit of her stomach.

At this point, her job is simple: it's a matter of choosing which side to trust.

"What was that about?" Emb's curiosity is piqued, and Peyton's boisterous mannerisms and ill-timed guffaw have now forced her to either think fast or answer him honestly.

She does _not_ choose the latter.

"You wanted to know about Crimsontooth, but it's all just basic urban legend. Any kid in Forks could tell you the same campfire, ghost story of the black wolf that roams the forest, seeking revenge on the vampire who killed its mate."

"Peyton." He waits to speak again until she looks up from fidgeting fingers. "You're obviously more aware than that. You've figured out where we're keeping you."

We're.

He said _we're_.

An irrational sense of loss plummets her heart, resting it heavy in her gut.

Blind to her despair, Emb continues, "Just 'any kid in Forks' wouldn't have known about the 'Old Cullen Mansion,' so I'm gonna say it one last time. Tell me what you know about Crimsontooth."

Peyton slams her lids tight.

Through semi-pursed lips, she blows out a slow breath—the exhale rushing past her concaved tongue, creating a turbulent pocket of pressure in its well that she focuses on. This is it.

All or nothing.

Choosing to trust her captor, she resolves to witness her secrets tumble from her mouth.

"I don't know where to start. The story goes back almost 40 years."

Emb visibly relaxes—shoulders drooping slightly, clenched jaw slacking. "Try the beginning," he suggests, moving to the bed, sitting a few feet from her.

"Yeah, alright," she concedes. His irises, tinted a deep shade of sepia and perfectly framed by thick lashes, watch her every move—waiting patiently. And with a final sigh of defeat, Peyton drops the first in a series of bombshells that tie her to this underworld more intimately than any of the supernatural beings in the room could have ever imagined.

"So...the Cullens and my grandparents were family friends. My grandmother was the charge nurse at Forks Hospital where Dr. Carlisle worked, and over the years they became close. One evening in April, the Cullens invited them to their home…" She looks around the expansive room, eyes bouncing off the four, imprisoning walls. "Well…here, I guess. Anyway, my grandmother was only eight months pregnant, but she went into early labor. They called 911 for help, but apparently, there'd been some kind of freak mudslide that took out the only road to this house. The ambulance had to turn back. I guess some would say it's lucky she was stuck with the good doctor during such an emergency, huh?"

"What are you saying, Peyton?"

She watches her nimble fingers dance in her lap. "You know there's an exam room here? Somewhere in the back of this house, there's an _exam room_. That's where he took her… He wouldn't even let my grandfather follow them. Just Edward." With the mention of that name a slight shiver sends involuntary tremors down her spine. "She'd lost a lot of blood, too. But Dr. Carlisle had that covered. I mean, who the fuck has blood just sitting in their house! 'Cause I sure as hell don't. Do you?"

With a pointed look at Emb, she is expecting an answer.

"Peyton, be very clear." Using a slow, sure cadence, he's trying to counteract her unraveling tone. "What exactly are you trying to tell me?"

But expelling all her words in a single burst of air, she lets them flow wild and free. "I'm trying to say that my mother was born in this house close to 40 years ago and the only two people present were Dr. Carlisle Cullen and some guy named Edward who bit my grandmother's left breast during the delivery."

She desperately tries to calm her feral breaths as they leap from her chest—white noise from her own exhales flooding her ears so loudly that she almost misses Alice's soft admission…

_Almost._

"Laura…Laura Schilling?"

Peyton jerks her head toward the black-haired woman who's crept out from the shadows. "How do you know my grandmother's name?"

Alice slowly shakes her head, shock painted on her China doll features, but she only glances at the young girl for a moment before her copper eyes pass hidden messages to the man on the bed.

"Emb, how does she know…" Peyton pleads for someone to have mercy on her, for someone to tell her the truth in this godforsaken place.

Pulling his stare from the vampire in the cage, he looks into the human's watery gaze, compassion softening his tone, "You shouldn't trust anything she says. Basically, Edward was her brother. I'm sure she was there the night your mother was born."

"What! But, how?"

"She's a _Cullen_. Her name is Alice Cullen." Emb reaches a hand out to cover the distance between them, letting it hover inches above her forearm before awkwardly pulling it back to rest in his lap.

"Oh, God, this isn't supposed to be real. None of this is supposed to be _real_! My grandfather always said Laura had been sick with fever that night and had probably just imagined the whole thing during mom's delivery. But I mean, I saw the scar! She showed me the bite mark on her breast when I was a kid…she just wanted someone to believe her. And then when she disappeared—"

"She disappeared?" He interrupts. "You mean she didn't turn?"

"Uhh, no. She didn't _turn_."

"What happened after Edward bit her?"

"Umm…she said Carlisle threw Edward across the room then latched onto the wound and…and…_sucked_," Peyton gulps, "until all the fire left her veins." Swallowing the remembered conversations and quieting her voice along with images in her mind, she adds, "That's why Laura used to call them bloodsuckers."

She doesn't expect anyone to believe this story, which is why she has never shared it, but Emb doesn't even blink. He just stares—expressionless.

And, unfortunately, this does nothing to calm her nerves.

So she speaks to fill the gap left by silence. "But yeah, after my grandmother disappeared…well, that's when Crimsontooth showed up behind my house."

The lines creasing his forehead reveal his surprise before he quickly smooths them over. This indifferent—seemingly rehearsed—countenance does not sit naturally on his features, and she catches herself imagining how beautiful he must have been in life's more carefree moments.

"Okay. So was Laura ever found?"

"No. Just her car. It was abandoned on the side of the road right outside of town. No witnesses. No sign of foul play. The engine still running. It's like someone simply convinced her to get out of the car…like she was under some kind of spell… Anyway, that was seven years ago."

Emb's glance ricochets off the cage behind Peyton before he refocuses the conversation with a single question. "And Crimsontooth?"

"He…_it_…showed up that night. I wasn't sure at first—its coat was so dark it blended in with the thick shadows between the trees—but then I saw its eyes. I'll never forget those eyes. Two fire pits from Hell raging against a midnight sky. And that growl…" She bites her lip, momentarily lost to the pull of her memories. "It was so deep, it rumbled the floorboards, and I swear I could feel it vibrate through my body as I lie awake in bed. I was so scared. That thing was out there. Threatening me. Cursing me. I knew it took my grandmother. And five years later, on one of my mother's many runs to that _stupid_ meadow in the middle of the woods she was always talking about…that monster took her, too."

"Wait. Your mother, too?" Emb cups his hand behind his neck and rubs out a kink in the thick muscle, the first natural reaction to stress he's displayed in Peyton's presence. "And you think it was the wolf? After all that time—five years—why?"

"Yes! Because my mother never came back. Because they never found her body. And because that was the _second_ time Crimsontooth showed up outside my house. Once after Laura disappeared, and then again after my mother." She shakes her head vigorously, "It's not a coincidence. I refuse to believe that."

"Plus, _you've_ now been taken, Peyton…and you saw the animal yourself just yesterday." Alice chimes in from behind the bars, adding incriminating evidence to the case building against the beast in the girl's mind.

A low rumble washes over Peyton, the deep sound resonating in her bones like a rolling thunder…chattering her teeth.

And Emb is pissed.

"Well, it's true," the porcelain captive hisses, and in a single move too quick for human comprehension, the man on the bed becomes the man at the cage—arm jutting between the steel rods, hand latched securely around Alice's throat.

Nessie slowly emerges from the shadows. "Embry…you don't wanna do that." Topaz eyes never leaving his, her voice stays calm and sure.

Two beats of a human heart—that's all it takes—before he drops the thing on the floor and walks to the window, peering through the sliver of space where the heavy curtains don't quite meet.

"Wait! What just happened?" Peyton wants answers, but no one is talking.

Alice is curling up against the wall, her lesson learned for the moment, and Emb is lost in his own world, staring at the few dancing leaves visible from this room. Her only chance for an explanation is the one girl who has barely glanced at her since her arrival.

But it's all she's got…

"Nessie?" _Please_…

Scanning the enclosure across from her, Peyton watches the last of a bronzed curl bounce back into the dark depths of a recessed corner.

"Nessie, wai-" a final, defeated plea dies on her lips.

Emb crosses her path on his way to the hall. "Paul will be by later to clean up…breakfast." Motioning to her ice cold oatmeal, to the carcass in the cage, he's back to business.

"No! Emb!" She leaps from the bed—her legs finally finding the strength to move—and grabs at his arm in desperation. "Please, what's going on? Why won't she talk to me?"

"Peyton." Looking directly into her eyes, he wants this message clear. There can be no misinterpretation. "Nessie is never going to talk to you."

"But why?"

"Because you're going to help us kill her mother."

* * *

><p><em>*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels<em>—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


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